|
|
|
|
|
|
depart without craving leave after they had been received with so much apparent favor. It would be treasonous as well, implying that they had fled because they believed the rumors of plots against them. Worst of all, it would give John the right to recall them and declare them in defiance. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
There were other, lesser reasons also: the men who would come to render their pledges the next day; Sir Robert de Remy, who was to be taken into service. Ian had made an appointment to discuss the Irish matter at the end of the week. As clearly as she saw all the reasons, Alinor also saw that Ian was temporarily beyond reason. She sighed softly. He was so much more difficult to deal with than Simon. He was softer. Everything hurt him more, and he reacted too often with his gut. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"You can ride nowhere tonight," she said, avoiding all issues, save that upon which a woman was customarily considered fit to speak. "You are hurt and tired beyond your own knowing." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I cannot go to the feast. I cannot. I cannot go to court tomorrow. I cannot. I cannot face the kingI will spit upon him! I cannot, I tell you." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Nor you will not," Alinor agreed. "You will take to your bed." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"But I am not hurta few cuts and bruises" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Alinor could not help laughing. "That is what you think now, because the wounds are fresh, and in some measure the heat of fighting is still on you. Wait until tomorrow. You will be glad enough of your bed. You will wish you were dead." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The laugh soothed Ian in some indefinable manner so that Alinor's words made an island of sense in the turmoil in his mind. It was true enough. He would be as sick as a horse the next day, and he was tired. If he could sleep and forget He began to fumble with the buckle of his swordbelt, but dropped his hands when Alinor's firmer grip unloosened it. He watched her as she began the familiar process of disarming him. He |
|
|
|
|
|